Showing posts with label Fresno. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fresno. Show all posts

Sunday, March 21, 2010

marbles, fables, and other paths

He worked for years behind those walls. Silently, landed pins on shoe soles, tied leather knots, crunched peanuts during burning seasons. I had never walked by those factory walls before. All those water lilies impossibly blooming in august, under no sun to be seen. Silently.
Giaccomo had a wife and three daughters. Arrived there before the war, silently, weary, but holding some hope. Manzinni, se chiamava il padre suo. Era morto da anni. Had not ever dreamed he would meet Marta, and so soon, after all.

Saturday, March 20, 2010

four o'clock, before the rain

each day waitin' for the rain. The silence of lilies and daffodils entertaining insects. We were all at the tipping point of the cape: further west there was only water.

Monday, February 15, 2010

Lunch break

Peter used to look at the illuminated altar three times a week. Between one and two, on sunny afternoons, the light was best. Silently he thought about crocodiles, elephants, a backyard in Luanda he had not seen for ages, but which refused to leave, day or night.

Friday, December 25, 2009

In 1956 I had opened that door

[We had almost two feet of snow. I spent most of the morning shoveling it out of the uncovered porch and the pathway that led to the cabin. Later in the afternoon, Jemime appeared from across the lake. I could not believe she had made that far. With a book in her hand. Eyes almost impossibly green...]

Monday, December 21, 2009

Chromotherapy - Colored cups

[On a window sill, water-filled colored glasses sit through the day: Violet for meditation, elevation, these subtleties; Blue for words and throat; Green for lungs and heart; Yellow washing liver, intestines, calming anxiety; orange and sex; and finally Red, centered on the sill, more exposed to the sun. Red for the structure of my path. Legs and feet. My armchair, my walking stick, my road diverging in two.]

Friday, January 31, 2003


California. Agadez. Impossible deserts. 
She played sax for a very long time, before leaving for good.
He knew they had made love that night and yet all he remembered was the taste of alcohol and cigarettes in his mouth. Not much of her scent, words or how her eyes looked when they looked at him remained. It felt like raining and cold inside that small space while nearby pastures running dry and the cattle thinning out and all that there was to protect the young from coyotes was barbed wire.